


Road Trips

by FuckAroundAndFindOut



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Cancer, Character Death, Dirk is sad, Elton John Song, Fluff, Fluff and hurt, Funerals, M/M, Minor Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Minor June Egbert/Roxy Lalonde, OOC Characters because writing is hard, RIP, Road Trips, This might hurt a bit, by 'minor' I mean 'miniscule', f in the chat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckAroundAndFindOut/pseuds/FuckAroundAndFindOut
Summary: The first thing you notice is the pain in your legs. Sitting in the passenger seat for the past few hours has caused them to be stiff. Not that you would ever tell that to your husband, he’d just call you old. He notices you stretch your legs at the rest stop though.ORDirk and Jake take a road trip to visit Jake's parents
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Road Trips

**Author's Note:**

> If you really want to get a full effect with this fic, I suggest listening to 'Tiny Dancer' by Elton John before or during reading.

The first thing you notice is the pain in your legs. Sitting in the passenger seat for the past few hours has caused them to be stiff. Not that you would ever tell that to your husband, he’d just call you old. He notices you stretch your legs at the rest stop though.  
“Bit stiff there love?” he asks.  
“A tad. Nothing a quick rest stop won’t fix.”  
“Meet back at the car?” your husband asks. You nod in response  
With that, you walk into the rest stop, dead set on finding the bathroom and some orange soda. 

The good news, they had both a bathroom AND Fanta. Score! Looks like your husband also got a drink.  
“Really Jake? Water?”  
“Hey now, not all of us can drink soda and not feel the effects afterward,” he’s clearly referring to his muscles.  
“Dude, I was just pulling your leg. What really would have been ironic is you getting tea,” you state, taking a swig of your soda. Jake smiles at you and puts the car in reverse. You flip on navigation and music. According to the GPS, you’ll be at your destination in 4 hours. Damn, why did Jake’s family have to live so far away? Not that you can say much, as your family lives 16 hours away. Normally you’d just fly, but your lovely husband insisted you drive. Damn midwesterners. Thinking a 12-hour drive is better than a 4 hours flight. You take another sip of soda. Jake merges back onto the highway.  
“Not too fast there, buster! We just stopped to use the bathroom!” You roll your eyes with a smile. Jake may not be a dad, but the dude loves his dad jokes. To describe your husband in a word would be DILF. Which, yes, is one word, and yes, is a perfect description of him.  
“Dirk? Are you going to play any music?”  
“Oh shit,” you scramble to press shuffle on the first playlist you see. Apparently, you ended up choosing a classic rock playlist as Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” starts playing through the stereo. Don’t get you wrong, you like classic rock and all, it’s just not your first choice. Jake, however, lives for it. He’s humming along to the song as he taps the steering wheel slightly offbeat. 

It’s about an hour into driving when you realize how much you love your husband. The playlist you chose ended up being halfway decent. A little Motley Crue, a dash of Twisted Sister, and a splash of the Sex Pistols. What really does it for you is Elton John. You hate being a stereotype, but you and your husband both love Elton John. Jake says it reminds him of his childhood, which may explain his accent. He’ll say it runs in the family, and you say that Elton John does not count as family.  
Jake also has a decent singing voice. As a rapper, you tend to stray away from singing and stick to your bars.  
So when Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” came through the stereo, you knew he was going to sing along. The piano opening is seared into your brain. What you did not expect was your husband to be so god damn attractive while singing. The sun was setting and the sunlight was hitting his face just right. His brown locks look like honey, and his green eyes look almost artificial. Nearly the same color as a green Jolly Rancher. His voice is music to your ears. You chid yourself slightly for the pun, but remained transfixed in your husband’s aura. If your life were an anime, this is where you would start blushing and get a pair of heart eyes. Instead, you settle for a soft smile.  
By the time he catches you staring, the song is finished.  
“Dirk, were you staring at me?” He turns to look at you.  
“Shouldn’t you be staring at the road?” He huffs and turns his head back to the highway. Empty. Because you’re in the mid-fucking-west. “To answer your earlier question, however,” you start, “Yeah, maybe I was staring at you for a bit.”  
“Distracted by my good looks, Strider?” He responds, putting a finger gun under his chin and giving a cocky smile.  
“A) Clearly you’re more distracted by mine because you keep turning away from the road to look at me, and B) you of all people should know that Strider hasn’t been my last name for years.”  
“Yeah, but Strider-English doesn’t have the same ring as Strider.”  
“Damn 4 syllable last name versus 2,” you say jokingly. Jake smiles and focuses back on the road. Comfortable silence ensues for the rest of the trip.

That was months ago. Months before cancer. Months before you spent thousands upon thousands of dollars trying to save him. Months before you spent nearly every night in the hospital, lulled into sleep by the whirring of machines and the faint beep of his heart monitor. They put him in a medically induced coma, supposedly so he would be in less pain. The doctor pulled you out into the hall one day.  
“Mr. Strider-English?” She gestured for you to follow her. You look at her in silence, too tired, too exhausted to form a sentence. It’s not like it’s going to be good news anyways. It never is.  
“Looking at your partner’s-”  
“Husband’s” If she’s here to give you bad news, the least she can do is call him your husband.  
“Your husband’s condition looks,” she pauses, “dire.”  
You only manage a nod, telling her to go on.  
“At this rate, the best we can do is keep him in as little pain as possible. I’m very sorry Mr. Strider-English.”  
You just watch as she walks away. You grip the wall for support.  
She just told you your husband is destined to die.  
Die at any moment.  
You follow the doctor to fill out hospice papers.  
You do not cry.

Jake Strider-English died on a Wednesday afternoon, in his own house, surrounded by family and friends.  
The funeral follows a week later. You sit in the front row. June and Jade, Jake’s two cousins, took care of the planning. Jane, Jake’s sister, cooks a whole feast, full of Jake’s favorite foods. Dave, Rose, and Roxy stay with you while you start the grieving process. You know they were mainly there to make sure you don’t fall off the deep end.  
You do not cry. 

The first time you visit his grave, it’s two months since the funeral. It’s one of the few times you’ve actually left the house. You bring a bouquet of lilies and marigolds.  
“Hey, Jake. It’s been a while.” God, you feel stupid. All the people in movies that talk to their dead spouses always say that, and now you know why.  
“Anyways, here’s a few things for ya,” you say kneeling and placing flowers on his headstone. You brush his death date over with your fingers. You look to the right of the headstone, where your name and birthday lies.  
“Funny to think about how I’ll be here with you one day. ‘Till death do us part’ and all that,” you pause.  
“So, turns out you were right about Dave having a thing for that dude in the coffee shop. Their relationship feels straight out of fanfiction. The dude’s name is Karkat by the way. He seems nice.” You pause.  
“You were also right about Roxy crushing on your cousin. Them and June are together now.”  
Tears threaten to fall. Your voice starts to break.  
“You were right about many things Jake. One of the things I miss about you is all the ‘I told you so’ moments. God, there are so many things I miss about you. Your smile, your jokes, your laugh, your presence, the way you would sing in the car, the way you would hug me, the way you would bring me coffee while I was working on projects, God I miss YOU!”  
You stop for a moment and feel tears on your cheek. You remove your shades.  
“Here’s what I came to tell you, mainly,” you pause and sit on your butt criss-cross applesauce style. “I’ve been going to therapy, mainly grieving counseling, but still going. They gave me an idea and I took it.” You bite your lip.  
“Jake, I’m going to be a father,” you pause. “I’m adopting this kid. His name is Hugo and he’s about 3 years old. I know you wanted to be a father, and I kept saying I wasn’t ready, and I’m sorry that it’s late, but, I want to do this. Not only for you, but for myself. I’d like to think that having a lively kid in the house might wake it up a bit, you know?” You look at the time.  
“I need to get going.” You stand up and brush the grass of your pants. “If you ever need a place to haunt, the door will be open for you.”  
You can almost feel his spirit smiling at your joke as you walk away.


End file.
